Ashen Shadows
by Devin Trinidad
Summary: It's not a fight. Not really. But it does feel like one. (Pre-Series Fushimi and Yata)


He's on top of the rooftop.

The sun is in the middle of its descent after a long day of watching over the citizens of Shizume. A clash and a bang from a metal door opening, and a young boy with brilliant red hair steps out, his eyes trying to adjust to his surroundings.

"Ah, Saruhiko," Misaki calls out in a friendly manner. His eyes, bright and wonderful, glimmer with excitement as he approaches his childhood friend. Underneath one arm, he holds his skateboard. Under another, he holds a bag filled with groceries. "Didn't think I'd find you here, what gives?"

Although, Misaki tries not to show it, there is both curiosity and a hint of worry in his normally carefree gaze.

His companion sighs, a trace of melancholy, boredom, and something far less tangible to say or think about—longing.

"What of it, Misaki?" Saruhiko can't help it; he's automatically on the defensive. "Can't I spend a few minutes by myself?" His words are harsh; the clicks of his tongue easy enough clues to know that he's irritated.

Something is wrong, but neither of the two dare voice it.

Misaki laughs, a strained bark of one before letting his shoulders slump a bit. Although he is no longer built like a child, he still looks and acts like one. With a pang, Saruhiko wonders if his words and actions have hurt him. With another pang, Saruhiko realizes that he doesn't give a damn.

Not now.

He shouldn't have to care because he doesn't—not really.

"I've got, umm," Misaki gestures wildly at the bag filled with groceries. For the life of him, he feels embarrassed, like he—or they—lost something amidst their meeting (confrontation?). "Ya know...for the apartment."

Saruhiko's lips curl.

Misaki's eyes glance distractedly away as he let his arms drop at his sides—careful not to let his precious cargo fall.

The both of them are disappointed at each other and in themselves.

"Let me guess; vegetables, meat, and some cleaning supplies?" Saruhiko's voice is sarcastic, still biting. He's like a deadly cobra just waiting to strike. Just waiting to say the punch line like a cobra finally sinking it's fangs into the soft flesh of his prey.

Saruhiko knows it's wrong; it's wrong to lash out at his friend. It's not his fault for being so damn clueless, so damn oblivious to it all. It's damningly maddening to know that he's inflicting pain on purpose, but damn.

There's victory to be had in Misaki's downtrodden glance because Saruhiko is the catalyst.

He's the reason for his friend's change in demeanor.

Damn him for enjoying the redhead's pain.

Damn him.

Damn him.

Damn him.

Misaki chuckles again.

It's a useless sound, Saruhiko thinks. There's no substance. There's no meaning behind it. It's a placeholder for what he's truly thinking—a filler for the conversation that they should have been having instead of dancing around the issue like they are now.

Saruhiko wants to twist the knife even further. He wants to watch his friend bleed into the ground. He wants to watch the sun dry up the blood into a crusty stain of brown and rust.

Saruhiko wants it badly.

"Hey, Saru...you've been acting," Misaki thinks for a few seconds, at a loss for words. How can he describe his friend's actions without offending him? "I don't know...weird lately? You've been avoiding me nowadays. It's weird." He finishes lamely.

Saruhiko narrows his eyes at friend. It's a good thing the shorter boy has opted to stare at the settling sun because if he looked at his bespectacled companion...best not to think about that.

"Weird." Saruhiko states. Is that all Misaki can say? Is that all he notices? But of course, Saruhiko can't help but berate himself. Misaki's so obsessed with his precious HOMRA, and his super cool awesome powers from the Red Clan, and Mikoto.

Mikoto this.

Mikoto that.

Saruhiko wants to wipe that admiration and awe off Misaki's childish face.

He doesn't want to see that expression on his face—only if it's meant for him.

"Yeah. Like, sometimes I look for you around the bar, but you're not there. I go into our apartment, but you're not there. I check out some of our favorite places to go, but you're also not there!" Misaki's boisterous exterior has returned as he gestures frantically with his hands. It's a stupid habit, but it gains Saruhiko's fondness. "What gives? It's umm...it's worrying."

Saruhiko's frown returns full force as he turns away from his only friend. The sun is setting, the long streaks of fiery orange and burgundy red start to fade away into dusky lavender and indigo. Beneath their feet, their shadows lengthen and darken with the passage of time.

Even the shadows on their faces seem to have grown monstrous and threatening as time wears on.

"It's. Worrying." Saruhiko grits out. He clenches his jaw and tries to remember why he came up to the rooftop. Tries to remember why he chose to overlook the city instead of holing himself away in the apartment with his laptop.

Tries to remember…

Tries to remember…

Tries to remember why he let his poor fool into his life. Tries to remember why he let this stupid little boy become his friend and drag him into this stupid little group.

Saruhiko tries to remember why he knew that even if he were to hide himself on the rooftop, Misaki was sure to find him.

(Saruhiko refuses to admit to himself that he did it on purpose. He wants to be found).

As if some god out there has been listening to his unspoken pleas, it seems that Misaki finally understands.

"Is it...Do you want to…" But, like it does in literature class, words fail Misaki. There's something in the air coursing between them. Something thick and heavy and it slithers between their bodies as they try to make sense of...whatever this is. "Look!" Misaki shouts in frustration and anger. "If there's a problem just—"

Suddenly, there's a buzzing sound.

It's Misaki's watch.

Saruhiko's lips curl into his telltale-mocking smirk as he watches his friend enthusiastically answers the message. From the rambunctious response, it seems that Kamamoto has called him. Probably another mission?

Saruhiko doesn't care.

The teenager slouches forward as he watches the sun finally falls into the line of the horizon. The dusky undertones of lavender have finally graduated into the royal hues of plum, dark indigo, and a hint of ebony. The twinkling lights from within stores and buildings wink merrily at him, but he's already disinterested.

Bored.

Instead, he looks away from the wonders of it all and focuses on his feet.

Are there truly shadows surrounding him? Or was he just part of the inky darkness of it all?

Misaki's voice continues to babble as he yells out a hasty goodbye and exits the rooftop.

The metal clang of a slamming door echoes in the darkness.

Saruhiko is alone once more.


End file.
